


Arrivals

by youaremarvelous



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 01:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9360071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaremarvelous/pseuds/youaremarvelous
Summary: Yuuri falls ill shortly after moving to St. Petersburg. With Viktor away on a sponsor meeting, it's up to the Ice Tiger of Russia to nurse him back to health.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授權翻譯】Arrivals by youaremarvelous](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9647669) by [inoripooh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoripooh/pseuds/inoripooh)



> Translation into 中文 available: [【授權翻譯】Arrivals by youaremarvelous ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9647669/chapters/21796733) by [inoripooh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/inoripooh/pseuds/inoripooh)

Yuuri dug his phone from his pocket and flipped it off airplane mode as the plane taxied. He pulled up the shade on the small oval window and blinked tiredly at the frozen, monochrome landscape while his phone worked to register a connection. His fingers started to feel cold just from observing the dreary, icy mire accumulating outside the well-insulated fuselage. He clenched and unclenched his hands a few times before tapping out a text to his Mom and Viktor, informing them that after an exhaustible and cramped 18-hour flight, he had finally landed safely in St. Petersburg.

 

He stowed his phone in his coat pocket without waiting for a response—uncertain what time it was in either of their locations and too tired to do the math—and reached for the backpack stowed beneath the seat at his feet. The passengers shifted to the center pathway and Yuuri took the opportunity to stretch out his elbows, unzipping his bag and pulling out a pair of leather gloves gifted to him by Viktor on his last birthday and his favorite cat-eared beanie.

 

He had been warned that early April in St. Petersburg was nothing like the balmy paradise of Hasetsu, but he found he was still surprised by the stark snowy landscape that stretched beyond his airplane window. Cherry blossoms were already in full bloom when Yuuri had boarded the plane in Japan—scattering the ground with fragrant, pink flowers that made Mari stomp around every morning, bemoaning the near futile task of trying to collect the innumerable petals from the outdoor springs. The ground was similarly obscured here, but by slushy grey snow and briny mud. There wasn’t a trace of spring in the low-hanging hazy clouds or the soft tapping of fat snowflakes against the plane’s exterior.  

 

After the crowds had cleared, Yuuri shifted from his seat and moved to exit the plane. He wished Viktor would be waiting for him on the other side of customs to warm his hands with his own and massage the ache from his shoulders. It was just bad luck that the day Yuuri would be arriving, Viktor had a sponsor meeting to attend in Moscow. He had offered to cancel, of course, but Yuuri had insisted he’d be fine. And he would be. He had Viktor’s address, the key to his apartment, and had practiced asking for a taxi to his fiancé’s flat in Russian. It wouldn’t be the first time Yuuri had navigated a strange city on his own. The task was mildly nerve-wracking, sure, but he knew he could accomplish it.

 

The frigid outside air between the plane and the jetway pinched any remaining warmth from his lungs and wracked his frame with full body chills. He folded his hands miserably into his armpits and shuffled his way to the shortest customs line, trying to covertly roll the stiffness from his protesting spine. His eyes were burning from lack of sleep and his throat felt raw from the plane’s recycled air. He handed his passport dazedly to the customs officer, grateful that the woman hadn’t asked him any questions before handing it back and waving him through. He doubted his ability to pull Russian from his exhaustion-addled brain. Even his ability to speak coherent Japanese was suspect at this point.

 

He managed to find the baggage claim without difficulty, and stood waiting impatiently near the carousel, rocking back on his heels and practicing taking deep breaths to calm his ever-present nerves. He had just filled his lungs with oxygen—counting out the seconds before exhaling in his head—when a jarring impact met the middle of his back, almost sending him to his knees with a stuttering cough.

 

“Hey,” a gruff voice sounded in English behind him. “Where the hell have you been, I’ve been waiting for over an hour!”

 

Yuuri’s shoulders stiffened, embarrassed despite the mistake not being his own. He turned, eyes to the floor, and raised a hand in apology. “Sorry, but I think you have the wrong—“ he glanced up and paused, eyes wide—“Y-Yurio?”

 

“That’s _not_ my—“ The boy furled his eyebrows together and turned his head with a click of his tongue. “Who the hell else would it be?”

 

Yuuri was confused but also relieved. He felt more awake than he had in hours and he wrapped his arms around the boy without thinking. Yurio was stiff beneath his hold but he didn’t push him away like Yuuri might have expected.

 

“It’s not a big deal,” Yurio scowled when he was released. His face was as stormy as ever but even his black jacket hood couldn’t hide the cherry red blush dusting the apples of his cheeks. “I had nothing better to do.”

 

Yuuri thought that must be a lie, because everyone had better things to do than wait around in an airport, but he didn’t call him out on it—choosing to smile gratefully instead. “Didn’t you have practice today?”

 

Yurio shrugged and didn’t comment. His sneakers squeaked on the scuffed up linoleum floors as he passed by Yuuri to the slow moving carousel. “Yours is the blue one, right?”

 

Yuuri was nodding his head before the words could catch up to his mouth. “Nn. Y-yes!” He stumbled forward to retrieve it, but Yurio had already hoisted it from the conveyer belt.

 

“Is that all you have?” Yurio glared at the luggage, disgust written in the creases of his eyes.

 

“Ah—“ Yuuri contemplated the question longer than necessary before snapping his mouth shut and nodding hurriedly. “I’m having the rest shipped up. I-it’s cheaper.”

 

Yurio scoffed and started rolling the suitcase towards the exit. Yuuri’s Russian still needed practice, but he swore he could hear the younger boy grumble something about a ‘cheapskate’ under his breath. His cheeks flushed from embarrassment as he stumbled after him, awkwardly trailing his heels like an unleashed pet.

 

Yurio halted on the sidewalk suddenly and Yuuri just barely managed not to run into him. “Do you want to get breakfast first?”

 

“Hmm?” Yuuri hummed, wiping a knuckle under his running nose.

 

Yurio tucked his hands into his jacket pockets—eyes turned to the street. “I doubt that geezer has any food in his apartment.”

 

“O-oh, sure.” Yuuri nodded before realizing Yurio wasn’t watching him, anyway. He wasn’t particularly hungry—a headache was starting to thrum steadily in his temples and his eyelids were heavy and burning, but it seemed rude to turn down the invitation. Especially when Yurio had seemingly ditched practice to retrieve him. “That sounds nice.”

 

Yuuri could’ve sworn he saw a small smile tug at the corner of Yurio’s mouth. He wondered if it was real or just a fatigue-induced hallucination.

 

“I know a place near his flat.” Yurio waved down a taxi with practiced ease. A rusted yellow car pulled to the curb and Yurio picked up Yuuri’s suitcase before he had time to retrieve it. He snapped the door open for Yuuri and gestured for him to sit before slinging the luggage into the trunk.

 

Yuuri watched dazedly as Yurio snapped instructions at the driver in Russian. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled his eyes away to check it.

 

(8:37) **Glad to know you are there safely, my love. Have you arrived at the flat yet?**

(8:38) Not yet, Yurio came to pick me up. We’re getting breakfast first.

 

Yuuri went to stow the cell back in his pocket, but it buzzed again almost immediately.

 

(8:38) **Yurio did?? Did you ask him to?**

Yuuri cast a sidelong look at his companion. The boy had his elbow leaned against the window and was tapping an impatient rhythm on his thigh.

 

(8:40) No…I thought you might have?

 

(8:41) **How cute! The little kitten is trying to make a friend!**

 

“Is that the geezer?” Yurio broke the silence, folding his arms over his chest with a scowl. “Tell him to mind his own damn business.”

 

Yuuri smiled a little and tapped out a short message, thumbing ‘send’ before sliding the phone back into his coat pocket and leaning his head against the car door.

 

He tried to stay awake. He wanted to familiarize himself with Viktor’s home as soon as possible—a certain suppressed but still existent fanboy side of him insisting that he memorize each street and store that Viktor might have frequented in his time living here. His exhausted mind wasn’t having it, though. The graying facades—all bathed in snow and splintered light—melted together beneath burning eyelids, caving into a deep, cavernous darkness.

 

Yuuri didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he snapped his eyes open with a sharp gasp, Yurio was pulling at his elbow to exit the cab. Yuuri fumbled after him, wiping a line of drool from his cheek. By the time he made it out of the car—arms wobbling beneath his body weight—Yurio was already standing impatiently on the curb with his suitcase.

 

“Thanks,” Yuuri rasped and reached for the handle. His throat felt rough and raw—probably from sleeping with his mouth open in the taxi. He cleared the gravel from his voice and tried again. “I can take it.”

 

Yurio rolled his eyes and started down the sidewalk. “C’mon,” he demanded, Yuuri’s suitcase trailing behind—plastic wheels clacking over uneven cement.

 

Yuuri stumbled after him. He stuffed his hands into his armpits, trying to pull every ounce of body heat into his core. Yurio didn’t try to talk to him—only clicking his tongue in frustration whenever Yuuri tripped over dirty patches of ice.

 

Yuuri was grateful for the silence. There was a terrible ache behind his eyes and a fire in his throat. He was having trouble moving icy air through his blocked nostrils, and just generally, he was exhausted.

 

Yuuri dragged one foot in front of the other out of sheer muscle memory, trudging mindlessly behind his quick-moving companion. When Yurio finally came to an abrupt stop, Yuuri was so consumed by his misery he almost ran right into the back of him.

 

He glanced up at their destination—an unassuming storefront with a faded green and white striped awning and large fogged over windows.

 

“They have good syrniki—” Yurio answered the question he hadn’t had time to formulate—“almost as good as the ones in Moscow.”

 

Yuuri had no idea what ‘syrniki’ was, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t know much about Russian cuisine outside of pirozhki, anyway, and at that exact moment, his main priority was seeking refuge from the brutal amalgamation of stinging winds and icy flurries that had the gall to call itself ‘spring weather.’

 

Yurio ordered for them both, not even bothering to spare a glance at the cracked plastic menu or ask Yuuri what he wanted. Yuuri could’ve cried from joy when their waiter came back with a steaming kettle of black tea.

 

“Your hair is longer.” Yurio observed as he poured.

 

“Yours, too.” Yuuri nodded with a muzzy smile, accepting his cup. “Soon it’ll start to look like Viktor’s when he was your age.”

 

Yurio grimaced and sipped his tea, almost dropping his drink when the scalding liquid hit his tongue. “Who’d want to look like that geezer?” He spat, wiping his face on his sleeve.

 

Yuuri huffed out a good-natured chuckle and blew gentle ripples across the amber liquid. Steam bellowed up and fogged the bottom of his glasses, but he ignored it, moving the cup to his cracked lips and taking a slow sip of tea. “I always liked his long hair,” he admitted with a contended sigh.

 

Yurio straightened up a little and rolled his eyes, tucking his hair behind his ear. “No one asked, pig.”

 

Yuuri suppressed a smile. “Right, sorry.”

 

Syrniki was pancakes, Yuuri realized when the waiter returned to their table with a plate of them. They were smaller and less dense than the Japanese version—piled high with jam and cream—but still easily recognizable.

 

Yurio seemed delighted as he dug in. All conversation stopped as he happily chewed, his face lit up in that certain way that only emerged when he was eating something he really enjoyed.

 

It was completely endearing, really. Yuuri suppressed a laugh and forked a pancake for himself. It was delicious, probably. Yuuri couldn’t really tell. The texture was good—slightly crisp on the outside, soft and fluffy on the inside—but the taste was impossible to assess through his blocked sinuses.

 

Yuuri wanted to eat more. He knew Yurio loved sharing his favorite things with him, though he was loathe to admit it. It was that knowledge alone that pushed Yuuri to finish the one and a half pancakes he had managed. But even with Yurio eyeing him suspiciously—his own chewing slowing down when he realized Yuuri had stopped eating—Yuuri couldn’t motivate himself to keep going.

 

Yurio speared another piece and shoved it in his mouth. “Don’t you like it?” He asked through a mouthful of pancake.

 

“I do,” Yuuri tried to smile convincingly. “I think I’m just tired.”

 

Yurio waved the waiter over for the check and slid some rubles into the book before Yuuri could offer to pay. “Didn’t you sleep on the plane?”

 

“Yeah, but I—“ Yuuri’s voice caught on something sharp and he turned his head, choking a crackling cough into the crook of his elbow.

 

Yurio stared at him, eyebrows knit. “You’re sick?” He asked, putting down his fork.

 

Yuuri opened his mouth to argue, but paused, running a mental assessment of his ailments. His throat burned, his nose was blocked yet running, there was a thrumming pain in his temples, and his stomach felt slightly off. “Uh—“ he cleared his throat, wiping his nose on his knuckle—“maybe?”

 

Yurio rolled his eyes and pulled him up by the elbow. “Say that before I bring you out to breakfast, idiot.”

 

“I was feeling okay before,” Yuuri argued as he was dragged to the door. It was mostly the truth. His symptoms seemed to have worsened now that he had finally realized the source of them.

 

He almost immediately slipped when he was pulled from the restaurant, back into the street. His lungs constricted petulantly against the biting cold, sinking Yuuri into a knee-weakening coughing fit.

 

Yurio didn’t pause in his trajectory. He kept his eyes pointed forward, but his face was dark with apprehension when Yuuri gained enough composure to look.

 

“S-sorry,” Yuuri rasped, though he wasn’t sure why.

 

Yurio scoffed and guided him to an apartment building, jamming his forefinger into the keypad for the elevator.

 

“You sure know your way around,” Yuuri sniffled, trailing Yurio into the elevator when the door opened with a hollow ding.

 

Yurio slumped against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “Probably because the geezer’s even more of a useless idiot than you are.”

 

“Is that a compliment?” Yuuri asked before he could convince himself not to. He wasn’t typically the type to intentionally goad the boy, but Viktor wasn’t here so the responsibility fell on his shoulders.

 

“You _wish_ , katsudon,” Yurio spat, pushing himself off the wall and striding into the hall when the elevator stopped.  

 

Yuuri grasped the suitcase handle and followed after, nearly tripping himself up with the wheels. Yurio scoffed and rolled his eyes, digging in his pocket for the house key.

 

Yuuri slumped against the jamb. “You have a key?”

 

Yurio unlocked the door and waltzed inside, flicking on the entryway light with practiced ease. “For emergencies,” he clarified, immediately pulling open the fridge to assess its contents.

 

Yuuri turned his head this way and that, taking in the details of his fiancé’s home.

 

His home.

 

 _Their_ home.

 

It didn’t smell like Viktor, nor did it possess any particular indication of his living habits. The place was beautifully decorated—with lofted ceilings and plenty of natural light—but it seemed somehow cold. Impersonal.

 

Yuuri sighed despite himself, the small gesture plummeting him into another bout of wet, stuttering coughs.

 

Yurio slammed the fridge shut, leaning his elbows against the counter with a barely concealed look of concern until Yuuri managed to regain control of his lungs. “Are you going to be okay alone?”

 

Yuuri cleared his burning throat. “It’s just a cold.” He assured him, curling his hot hands over the cold marble counter. “And Viktor will be here tomorrow evening.”

 

“I doubt that idiot has any cold medicine.”

 

Yuuri shrugged. It wasn’t like he was incapacitated. He was perfectly capable of walking to a convenience store if need be.

 

Yurio’s face twitched into a scowl. “You better not do that thing.” He warned.

 

Yuuri’s forehead crinkled, his mouth opening with a question.

 

“That thing where you say you’re fine until you can’t hide it anymore.” He clarified before Yuuri could ask. “It’s a real pain in the ass.”

 

Yuuri huffed and gave a gentle smile. “It’s just a cold,” he reassured again. “I’ll really be fine.”

 

“You better be,” Yurio growled, though it didn’t sound as much like a threat as he had probably intended. He whirled on his heel and stomped to the exit, pausing with a hand on the doorknob. “Just…call if you need anything.” He mumbled, ripping the door open with a tacked on shout of, “you stupid pig.”

 

Yuuri whispered an unheard thanks, smiling even as the door slammed in Yurio’s wake. He sighed once he was alone, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his malaise. It was weird being in Viktor’s apartment without Viktor. He looked around the room—toes wiggling—feeling oddly invasive and out of place.

 

He considered calling Viktor, figuring a Facetime tour might help him to feel more relaxed in the unfamiliar space. But the pain in his throat had steadily worsened since he had been forced to properly acknowledge it—having evolved from an irritating burn to a sensation not unlike what he imagined gargling with glass must feel like.

 

Yuuri didn’t feel like talking.

 

He also didn’t want to worry Viktor.

 

So he shuffled to the nearby couch, instead. Collapsing into the soft cushions and sinking almost immediately into a deep, fitful sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the brotherly relationship between Yuri and Yuuri (and Yuri's maybe kinda crush on Yuuri), so I wrote this. 
> 
> Come chat with me about all things yoi at my tumblr youremarvelous.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is in Yurio's pov and he thinks of himself as 'Yuri' so that's the way I spelled it. Sorry if it gets confusing!
> 
> Also, there are a few vomit mentions, so if you're emetophobic, you might want to steer clear.

Yuri doesn’t worry about that pig bastard.

 

He _does_ thinks about stopping by the apartment to let Yuuri entertain him, but only because Otabek is busy with a new coach and can’t spare as much time to Skype with him lately. If he had thought about going to the store for some cold medicine first, it was only because the idea of Viktor not having any irritated him. The man was supposed to be an adult, for god’s sake. He should at least be stocked with the fundamental items for basic at home healthcare.

 

In the end, he didn’t get the chance to stop by and see the katsudon until the next afternoon. His phone rang at the tail end of skating practice—a jaunty, annoying ringtone that Yuri had chosen especially for Viktor.

 

“What do you want?” Yuri pressed the phone between his shoulder and cheek, leaning over to untie his skates.

 

“Hi, Yurio,” Viktor intoned cheerfully, his voice slightly staticky through the line.

 

“I _said_ —” Yuri finished pulling off one skate and moved to the next—“what do you want.”

 

“I can’t call just to chat?” Yuri could imagine Viktor placing a hand over his chest in feigned dismay.

 

“No.” He replied simply, swiping a hand towel across the back of his sweaty neck.

 

Viktor sighed, his voice crackling in and out of focus. “Fine,” he relented finally. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

 

“What a fucking surprise.”

 

Viktor continued, unfazed by Yuri’s language. “I’ve been trying to reach Yuuri since this morning and he’s not answering his phone.”

 

Yuri steadfastly ignored the clench of nerves in his palms. “So? The idiot pig probably just forgot the converter for his charger.”

 

Viktor hummed through the line. “Maybe, but I’m getting a little worried. He hasn’t been in St. Petersburg before, you know.”

 

“Despite the fact that you coddle him like a child, you haven’t forgotten he’s an actual adult, right?”

 

“No, I know,” Viktor sighed. “I do, but. Look—“ Yuri could hear the scuffing of his designer shoes pacing the floor—“if you do this for me, I’ll choreograph you another gold winning short program.”

 

Yuri’s face scrunched into a scowl and he fought the urge to hang up right then and there. “I don’t need your help anymore, bastard.”

 

“But it can’t hurt, though, right?” Viktor pressed. “After all, it was my choreography that won it for you last time.” Viktor sighed again and his voice lowered an octave, his tone absent of all pretenses. “Look, Yuri. I really need you to do this for me, okay? You don’t have to stay, just stop by and make sure he’s alright. That’s all I’m asking.”

 

“Whatever,” Yuri snapped, finally thumbing the end button and stuffing his phone into his jacket pocket. He stomped his feet into his sneakers, crushing down the backs with his heels. “Stupid geezer and his disgusting pig boyfriend,” he grumbled to no one in particular as he headed out of the rink.

 

The apartment was quiet when he reached it. Not that he was expecting the katsudon to be throwing any ragers. The pig was hardly social on the best of days. (Unless he was heavily inebriated, apparently. Yuri desperately wished he didn’t know that from experience.)

 

Yuri’s fist hovered over the door—ready to knock—before he decided, ‘ _screw politeness_ ,’ and barged right in. The apartment looked much the same as he left it. Yuuri’s suitcase stood untouched in the kitchen, the curtains were tied back and open, and there were no dishes in the sink (if Viktor even _owned_ dishes. Yuri honestly didn’t know).

 

Yuri turned his head this way and that. “Katusdon?” He called, walking wearily towards the living room—hands fisted in front of his chest in case he needed to fight.

 

He was answered by a muffled cough and the ruffle of blankets. Yuri dropped his hands to his sides and shook his head in disbelief.

 

“Viktor’s been trying to call you,” he told the tuft of unruly black hair emerging from the bundle of blankets on the couch. “I can’t believe you’re still sleeping. Do you have any idea how late it is?”

 

“What?” Yuuri sat up a little and unlocked his phone. “What—what day is it?” He wheezed before coughing feebly into his hand.

 

‘ _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me_ ,’ Yuri bit his bottom lip in frustration and padded across the room. He opened the flashlight app on his phone and took Yuuri by the shoulder. “Open up,” he commanded.

 

Yuuri’s eyebrows knit in confusion.

 

“I _said_ , open your stupid mouth, katsudon.” Yuri repeated impatiently. Luckily, this time Yuuri complied, snapping his mouth open without further direction. Yuri aimed his flashlight down his throat, peering at his tonsils to assess the damage.

 

“Shit,” he hissed under his breath, turning off the flashlight and rocking back on his heels. He slapped a hand on Yuuri’s forehead and—feeling the heat there—heaved a heavy sigh, plopping down on the couch armrest. “You did the thing. After I fucking told you not to, you went and _did the thing_.”

 

“What?” Yuuri barely managed to rasp out, bleary eyes blinking.

 

“Get up.” Yuri grabbed him by one armpit and tried to hoist him up. “We’re going to the doctor.” He grit out between his teeth, grunting from the effort of trying to lift him.

 

Yuuri shook his head but didn’t resist. “M’fine,” he half coughed, wincing and grabbing at his throat when he was finally upright.

 

Yuri rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Right, and pigs can fly.”

 

Yuuri furrowed his eyebrows together, bottom lip jutting out as he considered the statement. “They can?” He asked, his voice crackling painfully over each syllable.

 

Yuri paused, a montage of Yuuri’s step sequences flickering past the back of his eyes. ‘ _In a matter of speaking_ ,’ his traitorous mind supplied. “Shut up,” he said instead, “your voice sounds fucking awful.”

 

Yuuri closed his eyes and leaned back into the couch. “Sorry,” he croaked.

 

Yuri pulled at the pig’s arm, gritting his teeth with the effort of pulling the man into an upright position. “Save it for someone who cares.” He told him, dragging him towards the door to stuff him back into his winter wear.

 

Yuri did finally manage to get Yuuri out of the apartment. The pig was wearing his coat over his pajama pants and shivering so hard he had to lean into Yuri’s side to hold himself up, but at least he was off the damn couch.

 

Yuri waved impatiently to flag down a passing cab, distractedly typing out a text to let Viktor know what was going on. The clinic was only a few blocks away but there was no way in hell he was going to try to lug the katsudon any kind of distance. _Not_ because he was worried about him. Yuri just didn’t want to deal with the headache of explaining to Viktor why his fiancé had slipped on ice (when his whole fucking _career_ revolved around maneuvering himself on it) and given himself a concussion.

 

The clinic was blessedly empty when they arrived, but Yuuri still managed to cough himself into a quivering heap by the time they were called back. Why they had to do a strep test, Yuri had no fucking clue. It was so obvious the katsudon had strep, Yuri could’ve written the script himself. Unfortunately, his prodigy status ended at skating, so he had to allow the doctor’s to do their work—even if that work involved the frankly sadistic practice of jamming a damn cotton swab down a person’s throat.

 

Yuuri responded predictably to the treatment by gagging and coughing so hard he nearly threw up into his own lap (praise quick acting nurses). Yuri turned away, cringing at the sound of his choked vomiting. When he turned back, the nurse was taking the used bag from Yuuri’s trembling hands, replacing it with a fresh one.

 

“We’ll have the results in ten minutes and then we can get you boys on your way with some medicine.” The doctor smiled politely and patted Yuuri on the knee before exiting. “He can go ahead and change back into his clothes in the meantime.”

 

Yuri didn’t bother translating. He doubted the katsudon would’ve heard anything he said, anyway—too wrapped up as he was in his own misery.

 

Yuuri looked so pathetic hunched over the plastic emesis bag, shivering and sallow-skinned against the depressing floral of the paper hospital gown. Yuri could see his Adam’s apple bobbing and the tears shining in the edge of his red-rimmed eyes. He clenched his fists into his knees, biting his cheek as he reached up to pat Yuuri on the back.

 

“You’ll feel better soon,” he grumbled out the stilted promise. It was no more than he’d told his cat when she had eaten through the plastic garment bag of his freshly laundered costumes. It didn’t mean anything. It _especially_ didn’t mean that he _cared_.

 

Yuuri hardly acknowledged him, anyway. He was busy coughing again, a fit so powerful it shook his shoulders and turned his face beet red from the force of it. The air was too dry in this stupid clinic, and who did they have to pay to get a damn glass of water around here?

 

Yuri sighed and ran a hand through his hair. With any luck, they’d be able to leave soon. In the meantime, he handed Yuuri his crumpled sweater, pulling at the back of the hospital gown until the knot untied itself and the garment slipped down Yuuri’s slumped shoulders.

 

“C’mon, pig,” Yuri grabbed the gown at the collar and all but slung it to the side.

 

Yuuri started from the sudden exposure. He visibly shivered and straightened—blinking down at the gray and black colorblock sweater in his hands. “Thanks,” he rasped, though the words were hardly intelligible through the crackle in his throat.

 

Yuri scoffed and waited impatiently for Yuuri to stop fumbling with his top and actually put the damn thing on. “Save it,” he told him, handing over his poodle patterned pajama pants. “Your voice sounds fucking disgusting.”

 

Yuuri nodded dumbly, almost toppling over when he slid from the examination table to put on his bottoms.

 

The doctor returned shortly after. Turned out the test didn’t need the full ten minutes to process because—like any idiot could plainly see—the katsudon had strep. However, because he could apparently never do anything halfway, he had managed to contract a sinus infection on top of it all.

 

“You’ve always gotta fucking outdo yourself, huh?” Yuri asked, helping Yuuri out of the clinic with the prescription clenched in his hand.

 

Yuuri groaned and sniffed, tucking a wet cough into his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Yuri huffed, steering him towards the nearby pharmacy. He’d rather bring Yuuri home and pick up the medicine on his own, but it made more sense to drop the prescription off now and take Yuuri back to his flat in the time it would take them to fill it.

 

He was sure the katsudon could hold out till then. Yuri glanced up at his companion—grimacing at his dazed eyes and cherry red cheeks. _Probably_ , he mentally amended. He would _probably_ be fine till then. It wouldn’t hurt to try to be fast about it, anyway.

 

Yuri deposited the older boy in one of the cracked, plastic seats lined against the pharmacy wall. The thing was probably riddled with germs, but so was Yuuri, so what did it matter. He handed the prescription to the pharmacist—casting sidelong glances at Yuuri, who was currently curled over himself with his head on his knees—and tossed a bag of his favorite honey flavored throat lozenges on the counter for good measure.

 

He was tempted to tell the cashier to hold off on checking him out—that he had a few more things to collect. But Yuuri didn’t seem to be holding up well, and he didn’t want to be saddled with carrying the pig the couple of blocks remaining to Viktor’s apartment. He was strong but not a damn pack mule. He’d get the rest of the supplies he wanted when he came back. The katsudon had held out this long without medical intervention, he would just have to test his supposedly high endurance and bear with it a little longer.

 

The pharmacist seemed to take an undue amount of time checking him out. Yuri couldn’t stop glancing over at his companion, chewing his bottom lip and tapping his nails against the counter, praying that the guy didn’t keel over, or worse, vomit again. Finally, the woman finished typing things into her register and handed him his lozenges in a plastic bag, telling him to return in thirty minutes to pick up the antibiotics. Yuri nodded absently and all but sprinted back to Yuuri’s side.  

 

“Alright, pig, up and at ‘em.” He waited for Yuuri to stand up on his own before growing impatient and hoisting him up by the armpits.

 

Yuuri groaned miserably, grabbing on to Yuri’s shoulder for purchase and leaning his overheated forehead into the crook of his neck. Yuri felt mildly satisfied that he had grown tall enough for the katsudon to do that. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be home soon.” Yuri groused with exasperation he didn’t really feel. He patted his back, swallowing back the pangs in his heart from feeling Yuuri trembling under his fingertips.

 

It was unnerving seeing him so miserable. Yuri had born witness to what he suspected to be some of Yuuri’s lowest, most vulnerable moments. But this? This was something else entirely. It was a misery not of his own making—as was usual—but by his body rebelling so fantastically against him. It was pathetic, sure, but not in the typical way.

 

More than anything, Yuri just felt sorry for him. It was an alien sensation—one he hadn’t really experienced since the Rostelecom Cup so many months ago. He wondered why Yuuri seemed to be the only one capable of inspiring such feelings inside of him.  

 

‘ _Probably because he’s so fucking pitiful_ ,’ Yuri reassured himself. He couldn’t believe he’d ever entertained the thought of Yuuri as a role model. The notion was completely anathema to him now.

 

“C’mon,” Yuri pulled him forward. “You’re almost done.”

 

Yuri thanked every deity he could name that he managed to get the katsudon home without incident. He tucked him into the bed, fitting him with the extra blanket from the couch and a small trashcan for safety measures before pulling out his phone again to check the time.

 

The prescription would be ready for pick up soon. Yuri eyed Yuuri wearily, assessing his sweat dampened forehead and pale, chapped lips.

 

There was no way he could leave him alone. Neither could he drag him back into the bitter, drizzling weather. Yuri rubbed his thumb in absent circles over his phone screen before pausing and jumping to his to his feet.

 

He raced out of the bedroom, nearly cheering when he found Viktor’s laptop on the kitchen table. He flipped the screen up without any regard to privacy, minimizing the most recent Internet search (‘Katsuki Yuuri blood type.’ _Really_ , Viktor?) and pulled up Facetime.

 

He typed Viktor’s number in quickly—vaguely embarrassed to acknowledge he had it memorized—and waited impatiently for it to connect.

 

“Yurio?” Viktor answered immediately. He appeared to be sitting in the airport, hair disheveled in the way that revealed he had run his fingers through it too many times out of nerves. “How’s Yuuri?”

 

“Ask him yourself.” Yuri picked up the laptop and started carrying it to the bedroom. “I’ve got to run back to the pharmacy to get his prescription. Babysit him in the meantime.”

 

Yuri kicked the bedroom door open. “Oi, katsudon, your disgusting husband is here to keep you company.” He plopped the laptop into Yuuri’s lap, growling half-hearted complaints as he helped the older man prop a pillow behind his back.

 

“Hi, solnyshko,” Viktor cooed when he caught a proper glimpse of his fiancé, all bed-rumpled and bleary-eyed. “I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well.”

 

Yuuri rasped out a reply that Yuri couldn’t quite catch, his voice crumpling at the end like paper.

 

(15:32) I’ll be back in a minute. Just text me if he hacks up a lung or some shit

 

He tapped out the message on his phone, hitting send and spying from the doorway until he was satisfied it was safe to leave.

 

It was a quick trip. Without the pig to slow him down, Yuri was able to make it back to the pharmacy in record time. He had managed to collect a few cans of soup, two different kinds of juices, a box of ultra soft tissues and Yuuri’s antibiotics before his phone buzzed again. He paid for the items and exited onto the sidewalk, pulling his cell from his pocket and thumbing open the lock screen.

 

**(15:48) Hurry back, he’s crying!!!!!!! D;**

Yuri sighed, rolling his eyes to the overcast sky, and shook his head.

 

Those two idiots.

 

(15:49) omw

 

He replied simply, sliding the phone back into his jacket and clomping unnecessarily hard over every frozen puddle on his return.

 

Yuri had halfway hoped Viktor would be able to calm his fiancé down by the time he made it back, but that was really placing too much faith in the idiot geezer’s ability to deftly handle any kind of serious interpersonal communication. He could hear Yuuri sniffling from the kitchen, coughing and choking his way around stilted sobs.

 

The sound of it made him unreasonably angry, though he couldn’t exactly say why. He dropped the groceries on the kitchen counter, loud enough for Yuuri to hear him and hopefully try to pull himself together.

 

Unfortunately, he didn't. Whatever sense of shame Yuuri typically possessed when healthy, it apparently flew out the window when his brain was addled by fever and pain.

 

Yuri stomped his way into the bedroom, slinging the door open without bothering to knock. Yuuri jumped and curled his fingers against his tear-streaked cheeks, eyes wide and frightened.

 

“Thanks for your help, you stupid geezer,” Yuri growled into the center of the room, pulling the computer out of Yuuri’s lap.

 

“Yurio!” Viktor fussed, trying to peer over Yuri’s shoulder at his fiancé. “You’ve got to be more gentle with him, okay?”

 

“Just get your ass back here. I’m done playing housemaid for your fucking Japanese boy toy!” Yuri shouted before disconnecting the call.

 

Yuuri’s face visibly crumbled at the words—eyes tensing in that way that almost always preceded a fit of anxiety. Yuri sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

 

“Okay.” He slammed the laptop closed and tossed it to the corner of the bed. “Stop crying.” He told Yuuri, pointing a finger at his chest and hardening his face into a serious stare. “You’re fine. Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

 

“I messed up Viktor’s meeting,” Yuuri gulped, the words coming out frail and hollow as fat tears rolled down his red, fever marked cheeks. “He’s coming back early because of me.”

 

“You idiot,” Yuri ground out. He wasn’t going to be the one to tell Yuuri that Viktor probably didn’t give a damn about the stupid meeting—that he was coming back early because he was worried.

 

He sure as _hell_ wasn’t going to tell him that he hadn’t seen Viktor really care about anyone but himself until Yuuri came along.

 

Just.

 

Fuck all of that.

 

“He’ll live.” Yuri said instead, yanking up the sheet to Yuuri’s chin. “Do you prefer apple or grape juice?”

 

Yuuri sighed and closed his eyes. “Not thirsty,” he swallowed miserably.

 

“Not an option.” Yuri told him, arms folded over his chest. Yuuri just stared at his hands gripped in white sheets, unanswering. “Apple it is,” Yuri decided for him, willing back his irritation.

 

Yuuri was sick. He had a high fever. He wasn’t being intentionally annoying. Probably not, anyway.

 

Yuri brought him back a glass of apple juice and his pills, plus a cup of hot tea with honey and a bowl of soup. He even managed to find Viktor’s stupid poodle tissue dispenser which he felt utterly ridiculous carrying into the bedroom until Yuuri’s face lit up the brightest he had seen it all day.

 

“Eat that,” he told Yuuri, gesturing at the steaming yellow broth on the tray. “And then take your pills.”

 

Yuuri nodded, surprisingly compliant. He lifted the spoon—his trembling hand barely managing to deposit any soup into his mouth. Yuri clicked his tongue but didn’t offer to help. Even he had his limits.

 

Somehow, despite the completely inefficient delivery method, Yuuri managed to finish a good half of his soup before declaring he couldn’t manage any more. Yuri wasn’t particularly pleased with his consumption, but he also didn’t want to risk him vomiting, so he acquiesced without a fight.  

 

He picked up the bowl and glass, fighting back the impulse to tell him, ‘that’ll do pig,’ before heading out of the room.

 

Yuuri reached out immediately and grabbed him by the hem of his shirt. “Stay with me?” He asked, brown eyes wide and glistening.

 

Yuri’s heart lurched.

 

He didn’t like it.

 

But he also couldn’t find the will to deny him.

 

He heaved a mighty sigh and put the dishes down on the bedside table. “If you get me sick, I’ll fucking end you.” Yuri warned. He reached for Viktor’s laptop and settled himself on the other side of the bed, showing Yuuri funny cat compilations on YouTube until the katsudon fell into a wheezy, but overall relaxed sleep.

 

When Viktor returned home just after 8pm, with his coat hanging off one shoulder and his hair a disheveled mess, he found his fiancé passed out in bed—arms wrapped around Yuri’s waist and his face nuzzled just under his armpit.

 

Yuri paused from where he had been rubbing gentle circles into the crown of Yuuri’s head. “Tell anyone about this and you’re dead.” He seethed, face darkening into a scowl when Viktor’s mouth quirked into his signature shit-eating grin.

 

“Sure, Yurio,” Viktor leaned against the doorframe, touching his forefinger to his lips. “Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a sequel to this fic that you can read [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10295360)
> 
> this was written and edited at the speed of light so I'm sorry if there are any glaring mistakes. I wanted this to get posted before I go out of town for the weekend, but I'll be around to look things over again in a few days. 
> 
> Thanks for all your comments on the last chapter, they definitely helped motivate me to pull the long nights necessary to get this posted quickly!
> 
> as always, come hang out with me on my [tumblr](http://youremarvelous.tumblr.com/) so we can chat all things yoi (and Yurio's adorable crush on Yuuri)


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